At fifteen in 1960
I hated the three-ton T-Rex
From the start,
That day my dad said
It was the only one
I could own.

Ready to please
Like a pooch,
She was a smiling,
Toothy fifty-four
Blue and white,
Four door,
Automatic
Buick
With bench seats,
A soon-to-be classic.

When the brakes gave out
Screeching like fingernails
Across blackboards,
We leaped out
Pushing backwards
Stopping the Rhino from
Rolling through red lights.

When the timing went,
The dragon belched blue flames
Scorching the underside
Of the hood.

With the hood off,
That topless
Playboy centerfold
Rolled like a tumbleweed
Through back streets.

Smith, precariously perched,
On the fender
Adjusted the carburetor
With a long necked screwdriver
Leaning back to
Avoid flaming eruptions.

Passing a school-bus stop,
The serpent belched fire
Scattering children like
Frightened autumn leaves
Running from a cyclone.

She never failed us
Cruising Hollywood & Vine
Weekend Nights
Nervous,
Horny,
Trolling for female kind.

It didn’t matter that we
Never met anyone.
The old gal kept moving
Gulping gas by the quarter,
A willing accomplice.

On New Year’s Eve
We sailed down Pasadena’s
Colorado Blvd
Desperate to share
Bench seats
With strangers in skirts
Gliding by party people
Waiting through the night
For the Rose Parade.

A Benedict Arnold,
I eventually
Betrayed my coach,
At midnight
Into an unwanted,
Over the hill
Halloween pumpkin
Recycled into trashcans.